


Dreaming I'm Alive

by Red_evil_twist



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Monster's POV, S04E6 "A Timeline And Place"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_evil_twist/pseuds/Red_evil_twist
Summary: A little insight to the Monster’s perspective during That Scene in “A timeline And Place”.





	Dreaming I'm Alive

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the song Muse - Hysteria. I think it suits Monster well.

Is it love?

Is that how they call it? This thing. This feeling. This… sense of connection.

Is that how it really feels, from the inside? If it is, than – than it sucks. It hurts, and it’s itching, and it’s so damn confusing. It’s close to a physical pain, only more frustrating, because he doesn’t know how to deal with it. How to turn it _off_.

Maybe it’s because he’s not the one who has turned it _on_ in the first place. This feeling doesn’t belong to him.

It’s not even _directed_ at him. And this, somehow, hurts him the most.

It should have been easy. It should have been just him and Quentin, playing together, having fun – for all the eternity. Quentin promised him, didn’t he? And they didn’t even have to spend this eternity in the Bad Place anymore. He was free, for the first time in forever, and he wasn’t alone. They could go anywhere, he thought, do anything, eat anything, beat the nasty old Gods together and be the Best Friends in the World.

Instead, everything went so completely wrong.

Instead, he’s standing here, in this boring apartment, in this boring world, drunk, angry and frustrated, and nothing seems to be working right, and he wants to break things, he wants to break Quentin, because he’s stuck, and breaking things is the only way he knows to make it all better, but –

“I will abandon you”, Quentin says, and somehow those words resonate both with the body he’s currently wearing and with _himself_.

Because – of course, of course Quentin was never actually going to stay with him. They all abandon him eventually, just like the Gods did. Mortals and immortals alike, they all tend to leave him. Because that’s what he gets – fear and hatred, even from the ones pretending to be his friends, like Quentin and Ora. That’s what he gets, for being who he is, and he doesn’t even know who _is_ that person, not really. The Gods took it all, took everything he was, and what little is left of him, apparently, turns out to be so wrong and useless that nobody ever wants it to be around.

In the memories of this body – this body which they all seem to be so concerned about – he finds a lot of similar feelings. The concept of _loneliness_ echoes inside of it like an old wound that never truly heals.

But that’s not the only thing this body knows.

He wants to break Quentin, and this body wants to – to do something different. To touch, to caress, to hold him, like the most precious thing in the world, to hug him, to kiss him like nobody ever hugged or kissed himself. This body is familiar with the warmness of Quentin’s skin, with how his neck oh-so-perfectly fits in its hands, with how his hair brush against its fingers ever so gently, with how fast his heart beats under its palms.

So is it love, then? It must be.

It must be love; this funny tingling in his fingertips, begging him to linger on that skin just a little more. This aching in his whole body, somehow both blissful and agonizing, like being close to something he craves with his entire being and yet can’t have it. This overwhelming sense of closeness and connection on multiple levels. This fire in Quentin’s eyes and this utter defiance in his voice. This weird, inexplicable _power_ that turned his Quentin – sad, soft, nervous, always-resigned Quentin who looked so lost just a few days ago – into this furious stranger who dares to threaten him, knowing fully well that he could snap him in half with a mere thought.

He can’t relate to it. Not really. He never was loved by anybody, and never learnt how to love himself. There was no one to show him. There was no one to care about him, in the darkness of Bad Place, where they locked him up for so many centuries that he forgot what was it like, not to be _there_. Love was always just an idea for him, a word with no true meaning, funny little thing in humans’ heads.

He is _empty_ , he realizes. Hollow. Right until now, it didn’t even bother him so much.

And now – now the void inside of him is suddenly aching to be filled, no matter how painful it might be, and he _wants_ it, he wants it so badly, to feel that, to have that, to learn that, to bask in this fire even if it burns him alive –

But he can’t.

It’s not his. He’s nothing but a passerby, standing in the cold outside someone else’s house, peeking through the window to see the orange glow of the fireplace and the full set of dishes on the table, for the dinner that he’s not invited to.

He wonders if breaking Quentin helps. If he can make him scared again, to give him what he wants. He doesn’t know how else he could get it.

Something’s telling him, though, that this time it won’t help at all.

His hands tremble over Quentin’s throat, squeezing it tightly. He wants to hurt him. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know anymore. Why does it have to be so complicated? Is that what humans feel all the time, absolutely powerless and confused?

Then, reluctantly, he lets him go.

“Fine”, he says. “I’ll take better care of this meat suit.”

Maybe then Quentin will love him too. Maybe this body is not so useless after all. Maybe if he lets it live, then he could have more of _this,_ whatever it might be. Maybe if he is generous enough, then Quentin will finally appreciate it.

Or _maybe_ it’s time to kill the original owner of this meat suit for good, obliterating its mind as well as its soul, and Quentin simply _won’t have a choice_. He will have to love him, one way or another. Sooner or later. Luckily, they have all the time in the world.

He smiles to himself and disappears on the spot.


End file.
